


Eight8alls

by njp695



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Bands, Human AU, Humanstuck, I dont even know what to tag anymore, Multi, Music, Stuff and, Well it's kinda hard to tag it as it's own thing, cause it really is just that, yeah - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-01
Updated: 2013-06-26
Packaged: 2017-12-13 14:37:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/825430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/njp695/pseuds/njp695
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kristen Martin; taken for a wild ride with her high school superstars, Victoria, Eric, Thomas, Terri, and Francesca. The chronicles of friends and fame and what happens when the two mix. MAJOR WORK IN PROGRESS (Isn't exactly Humanstuck, I just kinda used the characters as bases. Feel free to like it or not!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue - Planes and Recollection

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Thanks for clicking on this! This is my first story so far, and I hope to update and add chapters regularly. Constructive criticism is highly appreciated and accepted! I hope you enjoy my little story idea, and we'll see where this goes!

You are Kristen Marks; vogue fashion design extraordinaire, travelling the globe like a superstar as a manager alongside the world famous Victoria “Mindfang” Sessions, the edgy pop star that has taken the world by storm with her band, The Eight8alls. It was only now, sitting in a private jet with the band and Victoria, you realize that you made it.

The past few years have all been such a blur; even times before this all began felt so far behind. Everyone in the cabin had been high school friends, albeit you hadn’t known the others too well until this career got kicked off and you were grabbed along for the ride. You can’t thank Victoria enough for how grateful you are for her generous offer. It must have been junior year in high school, Victoria, her boyfriend at the time Thomas Nicks, her ex Eric Patel, her best friend Terri Price, and Francesca Piacere had all gotten together in Eric’s garage to start up their garage band. After that year was done and the summer came about, you got a call from Victoria, offering you, “A chance of a lifetime” as a fashion designer for her band. You had originally believed this was her being pretentiously excited and over dramatic so you waved an appeasing yes her way. 

You came back from your vacation, a social-media-detached and stress free environment, to realize the true scale of Victoria’s words; they were up-incoming stars, playing at some big places and venues, being asked by major magazines for interviews and photo-ops, and their name was on the tongues of anyone who had their thumbs on the pulse of the music community. You were quite overwhelmed by the fame they had attracted, and was surprised that they hadn’t decided to pay money for a professional designer. Either way, you couldn’t say no (since you already said yes), and come senior year you were designing and setting the style of the now world renowned Eight8alls. Later came the offer for a manager position, since their last one was trying to get them to “sell out” (Victoria’s words, which are always hard not to take with a grain of salt) and here you were.

Plane turbulence brings you back to the present, as you almost spill your glass of wine on your dress. The others were having a conversation about the next venue they were playing which you were idly paying attention to. From what you can recall, their worried the stage floor could handle Eric jumping around and thrashing around like he always does. Seriously, sometimes you think he’s going to pull a muscle or break a bone or hit somebody. Other times you know he’s hurt himself, but he’d never admit it out of pride. Victoria’s input was if the stage was small, they could just have Thomas stand up by Francesca as she plays the drums since neither of them move much during performances. Thomas complied silently, and Francesca wasn’t present in the moment, which for once wasn’t that strange.

You look over when this thought occurs to you and you spot her sitting where she was before, staring out at the ocean below. She’s been like that for the whole 3 hours they’ve been on the flight. Her necklace jewelry, which were numerous and were variations of gold and silver, shined against the ocean’s gleam, which created a light show on the ceiling. Her short sleeves rolled down her arm, reaching the collection of different wrist luxury, and the huge, faded pink sweater itself almost engulfed Francesca entirely. You couldn’t tell she even had her hallmark short jean shorts on underneath, also detailed with jewelry, silver gold and the like.  
Francesca was the only one who preferred to shop for her own style for performances. She loved the flowery, bright style of the 1960’s hippies. It seemed strange in this day and age to see someone emulating the style of almost 100 years ago, but you couldn’t complain; you really loved the look she was cultivating, even though you were never too outspoken about it for reasons you’re not exactly sure of. Francesca looked away for a moment when Victoria mentioned her name, her hoop earrings swinging with her head. Her large round glasses swung around too and her pink eyes darted around for a moment curiously, then they drew themselves back to the ocean, the light show on the ceiling resuming.

You notice you were staring for a while at her, and force yourself to look away and back to the cabin. Eric had begun to defend his playing style, tossing hands down to his sides and out, his shoulders pressed up. The scarf he wore with him every waking hour of the day pressed into his chin, the purple and blue strips complimenting his choice of outfit; a neatly kept and ironed black long sleeve shirt (the cleaning and ironing courtesy of yours truly), and a pair of dark blue jeans with purple stripes (Again thanks to you). 

Eric, as with Francesca, had an affinity for excessive jewelry; you think it may be evidence of their affluent upbringing. He always wore at least one or two rings on each hand, their meaning no one knows. His gauges were big enough to fit one of the aforementioned rings clean through, and his Rayban Wayfare glasses seemed just as thick, too (Of course you knew these were very light prescription). He had recently upgraded his size of ear jewelry and could not stop praising himself about it to the others. Victoria seemed to love to put up with his self-centered nature, you were the contrary. Goodness, the patience that girl has. You can’t help but tell him off for being so self-indulgent. He’ll listen to you most of the time, but the others don’t seem to have the same effect. A sliver of thought in your head occasionally makes its way in, believing that it’s because he has hidden feelings for you, but you do your best to suppress such a small doubt.

Eric threw a hand towards Thomas, exclaiming his stage presence had to make up for Thomas’ lack of energy on stage, which you had half a mind to know that was not the case. Eric always threw himself around; you had to admire how he places every ounce of his energy into music and performing. Besides, just about everyone (especially you) knew the bass lines Victoria wrote for Thomas were always very engaging and challenging, however quite fun to hear when played with the rest of them. She was always challenging him and helping him condition and improve his playing skills, and this had been her disposition for challenging and writing nearly impossible lines. He was, however, always able to deliver effectively, however with much practice and trial and error. This was most likely the reason why he didn’t move much on stage, and when he did, it was usually to shift positions or when there was a coordinated stage cross. He was always focused on his difficult part to help deliver the band’s sound.

Thomas disputed this as if he was reading your mind. His meek voice strained to peak above the gentle hum of the plane. He pressed a hand against his light brown, heavy jacket and the white V-neck shirt that trimmed down the middle underneath. He casually gestured a hand over in Victoria’s direction, his rolled up sleeves pressing down his arm. His baggy cargo pants followed his sprawled out legs up to his white socks and tan sandals. He was never so much the strong figure in the group; Eric and Victoria always disputed ideas and song contributions, Francesca would try to build some middle ground and compromise while Thomas just stood aside, most likely practicing. It was typically up to you or Terri to mediate and settle things before it got heated.

Speaking of which, Terri came stumbling back into the cabin from the back end of the plane, presumably from the bathroom, announcing she was back with a grand exclamation. The keyboardist found her way to an empty place relatively near the discussion as Victoria shot it her way. She asked her opinion on playing up on a platform for the performance, given the small stage room for the three of them. She replied positively, stating that she doesn’t need to be in the forefront of the stage, as it messes up her concentration. 

Well, at least the bickering and the arguing came to an armistice for the moment with the abnormal agreement. Terri was quite good at that, or you would like to imagine she is. She rolled onto her back, her red denim jacket parting to show off one of those tight, vintage band t-shirts from the 1990’s. You imagine most people from your age group would recognize them; a band from your parent’s formative years. This was cut down to the middle of her body, which revealed her teal sports bra when she raised her arms or did something of the nature. You were never fond of her fashion statements, clashing colors with edgy clothing choices. You figure she probably emulated the band’s look better than anyone else, as she would often add variations to the band’s outfit before a performance; it was almost felt unnecessary to continuously provide her with clothes to trash, rip and get messy paint and mud splatters on. No one complained, so you would probably never voice this opinion yet.

You weren’t much for conversation when you felt occupied, however the conversation had turned to you and all eyes were on you (save Terri’s, hidden behind her gigantic red blocker glasses). You weren’t entirely sure what the conversation was, and you were sure it was present on your face. Victoria piped up first.  
“Soooo? What’s your two cents, Martin?” she called, rather loudly from her sprawled out position on the floor. She stood up after a moment, her jeans folding and buckling at the foot. She brushed off her black denim jacket, littered and covered with patches and badges sewed on by you, and shredded and faded by the ends and sleeves. She repeated, “Should we?”

“I-I’m sorry, I’m not sure I was following the conversation,” you replied quickly but calmly, intimidated by Victoria’s powerful, piercing stare. “Could I receive a synopsis of the suggestion that needs my opinion?”

“Alright, Krist,” Eric butted in, his distinctive, strong British accent blaring the sound waves again. There was a hint of his hallmark attitude, and you knew immediately what you were in for. “We just got off the phone with our agent in the area. He says if we move the concert to an adjacent venue there’ll be more space for the audience and us, but he’s saying it’ll cost a bit more to move the equipment and re-inform people, and I sure as hell-!”

“Would the new venue provide you with enough space so you don’t have to redesign the stage setup and argue some more?” You interrupt him promptly; if you know him this well from the past couple of years, this conversation would be more than predictable.

“Well, yeah I guess,” he commented. “But Krist-!”

You don’t want to deal with him now, not with the rest of the band here. “Then it’s settled. We are moving the location of the performance to this adjacent venue.” You look around to the others, looking for a quick way to end . “Any objections?”

“Victoria?” You glance over at her, preoccupied with the ceiling’s light show. “Yeah sure whatever.”

“Thomas?” You turn your gaze over to him, and he seemed started, as always. “Uhh… Uhh, yeah, sure!”

“Francesca?” Your eyes roll onto her, even though you realize her big, oversized headphones blocked her out of this world. You then continue your roll call onto Terri.

“Ter-.” You stop yourself short when your eyes spot a figure rolled up on the ground, and you realize Terri was fast asleep on the ground, comfortable and quite in the corner.

“Yes, well, that’s seems to be it then. ” You turn back to Eric, stating conclusively, “It is decided.” You stand up, a bit of triumph rising within your chest and you state to the others, “I am to retire to my personal quarters for the duration of the flight. Please wake me when we’re on the ground but not before. And should you bother me for whatever reason,” You give Eric an especially angry glace; you know he’d be most likely to start you up for nothing at all. “I shall note that it must be worth wile.” You let your last words land on them like hammer blows, and you step out of the cabin, and forget the rest of the flight in your sleep.


	2. Hotel mornings

Perspective change? Damn straight, son.  
You are Victoria Sessions, and that plane ride was horrible. Worst plane trip ever, hands down. You can’t even imagine a worse trip by plane. You made the grave mistake of sleeping for the rest of the ride to be rudely awoken periodically during the night by turbulence. You thought these planes weren’t suppose to be effected by turbulence at this point. You remember regular commercial airliners with smoother rides. You woke up at the airport, restless and exhausted and it was almost daybreak.  
Fuck, you might as well just sleep at the hotel or wherever you guys are staying. Kristen was more on top of that shit than you, and frankly half of the time you just didn’t care. During you’re early years with the band (which really wasn’t that long ago but still feels like eons) you guys would book yourselves with about 7 shows for the weekdays, and maybe a bigger show during the weekends or something (you have no idea how Eric was able to play all those shows while almost tearing his arm out and fracturing his legs). Now THAT was exhausting, but it didn’t make your state now any less miserable.  
You all slump into the room in whatever place you were (you trust Kristen that it’s a nice hotel or something), and toss your backpack on the ground against the heater. You assume the rest of the feet shuffling into the room was the band and all of their gear, but you couldn’t be sure because no one spoke. It was dead silent in the somehow bright hotel room, save the shuffling of feet and luggage and the air conditioner. At least the place was cool and dry, you felt like you were being asphyxiated in the chokingly humid climate. Isn’t it in the beginning of November? God, you hardly even remember where you are. You just know that from where you’re from, it’s not supposed to be like this right around the time of your birthday.  
Your thoughts drift away as you pass out on the bed, and the next thing you remember is waking up with Thomas jabbing you in the side and tugging at the sheets. You pull away only to roll over and off the bed. You land sharply on some open bags and luggage. Damn it all, that fucking hurt like hell. You groan and sit up. You think you left your glasses on when you fell asleep, but sometimes you just leave them somewhere and forget. In either case, you found them on the night stand and put them on to get a glance at the time.  
God dammit, 7:47AM.  
You hardly got any sleep and now you’re wide awake with all of whatever energy you have left. You stand up and look down at yourself. Cool, you changed out of your clothes and was wearing some loose tank top and some boxers (you sleep walk a bit so maybe this was because of you half asleep). Your hair felt like a mess and probably was, but you grab a hair tie from your wrist and make your way to the kitchen as you tie it back in a half-ass bun. It will probably only occur to you the notion of a hotel suite with actual rooms, queen beds and a legitimate kitchen later in the day, but as of now you don’t notice the luxury you’re surrounded in.  
You rub an eye as you open the fridge to see what the hotel left you, and as it turns out they don’t like letting their customers eat much; there was almost nothing save a few TV dinners. You murmur in frustration as you close the door and continue your search for something to eat in the cabinets. You failed to hear the door unlock and open as your climb the counter to look closer into the cabinets. You were determined to find at least SOMETHING to eat.  
“Do you require assistance?” The soothing voice startles you half to death as Kristen walks in on your… interesting, situation. You jolt and shoot your head over, gripping your mouth to stop yourself from screaming. As a result, you lose your balance and begin to slip on the marble counter top, only to grab hold of the cabinet door just in time. You were clinging onto the frame of the cabinet while attempting to secure your footing, all the while you could hear Kristen’s suppressed laughter from behind her hand (you know she always laughs behind a hand or two). You regain your balance and drop to the tile in a less-than-graceful fashion, and you glance up at Kristen, which was an extremely hard task in its own.  
The first thing you notice about her are her defining features: her jet black hair was always teased in the back and sides and her bangs were held out of her face with a hair clip that matched. He had an obsession with green, specifically jade, and this was apparent in her eye shadow, nail polish, and green highlights that rimmed the outline of her hair perfectly. You admire her incredibly keen sense of fashion, and really knew how to highlight areas of her body using make up and her clothes alone. Today she was wearing her more casual apparel; a dark turtleneck with a layered shirt to exaggerate her thin, lanky features (however she wasn’t particularly tall from what you remember; just about the same height). She loved her red camouflage jeans she made, which had seams that stylishly crossed around in a very calculated, symmetrical manner, and for once she wasn’t wearing heals. Instead a nice pair of dark brown, suede shoes replaced the usual plumps or open-toe heals.  
At her feet she had dropped her bags of groceries in her fit of laughter; the bags and their contents were such a pretty sight to see. Her blush was a gentle red while yours radiated like a thousand suns, at least it felt like it against your face. You naturally pull a hand up behind your head to scratch behind your head and you look away, walking across to the island counter. “I-I was just looking for food… I didn’t know you left to go get groceries,” you confess, looking up and away from Kristen.  
“Victoria,” she began. In the back of your mind you attempted to predict what she would say to the letter, as it wasn’t hard at this point. “You know the hotels we stay at never leave food for us. I always go out to get the necessities and - given we will be staying here much longer than our normal stays because of the benefit later in the month - I spent more on food this time.”  
You dare a glance and find Kristen unloading the goods into the cabinets and fridge a relief. To take note of the size of her load, then something catches you. “Hey, if you bought a lot of stuff how come it looks like you just bought the regular load?” It was only six tote bags of stuff, and that’s average from what you can remember.  
“Oh no not at all,” she replied, smooth and content. “Actually…” She turned and turned her gaze on you. Your eyes met and you couldn’t look away, even though you had a feeling of what was coming next. “There are at least two dozen more bags I have in the lobby. I couldn’t carry them up myself, so I asked one of the bell-hoppers to haul it up for me.” She looked around for a clock, and you spotted it once her eyes locked on it above the fridge; 7:52AM.  
“I’m afraid I do not know what is taking so long,” She commented, but there was a hint of something in her voice. A bit of snark and sass in her tone as she continued, “Why don’t you go check on him for me?”  
“But Kaaaaaay,” you moan in complaint. “In what, this?! I ain’t going down there!”  
“Victoria Sessions,” she replied, snark and warmness in her voice. “You know you have two whole bags full of clothes. You can do what you always do and just throw something on that fits and run down and fetch him.” She turned back to the groceries as she continued under her breath. “I’m not asking you to run down the stairs in a towel and carry the bags yourself. Though, that would be an interesting sight….”  
“WHAT?!” You exclaim, throwing your hands out briefly before swinging a hand over your mouth as quickly as you can.  
“Just kidding, sweetie~.” Kristen finished, turning back a moment to smile cheekily. “All you need are some actual pants and you can take the elevator down and back up. No problems.”  
You stutter the beginning of a list of excuses, but you know they won’t matter. You end up tossing your hands up in defeat. “FINE! I’ll go grab the guy.” You storm over to the rooms and grab your bags. You’re sure your sweats are in one of these bags. After a few minutes of tearing through them you find a pair, throw them on and grab the room key. “This better not take long!” You call to Kristen on your way out. You can hear her calling back, “Only if you let it, darling!”  
All in all it wasn’t that bad (but you would never directly tell Kristen you were wrong); the guy was right there when the elevators opened and you guided him to the top floor. Since the elevator was taking forever (even for an “express” which only ends up on the top five floors at 125 and 130), during this time the guy recognized you as Mindfang from the Eight8alls. It was nice to have that kind of fame every now and then, to be recognized and praised. He told you how he was so thrilled to have them here in Japan and how glad he was to have met you in person. You signed an autograph and thanked him for being such an avid fan. He asked for a picture but you respectfully declined. “Trust me, you don’t want a shitty picture of me like this, do you?” You convinced him the next time you saw him you’d get him a picture.  
You open the door to the suite and helped him in with the cart-thing (you hate these things because you always forget their names). You could just see on his face how excited he was to be in the presence of his favorite rock stars. He graciously helped with unpacking the groceries while you grabbed some cheese from one of the bags and proceeded to eat a few slices. You watched them from across the island counter, glad to have at least something in your stomach. Kristen turned back to grab the bag of dough and glanced up to see you eating. The look she gave you was a mix of disappointment and defeat and she rolled her eyes, but she went right on back to unloading the cart. You chucked to yourself and left for the bathroom to fix your makeup.  
“Victoria~.” Kristen called and you froze in your tracks, like a robber caught in the spotlight. You turned your head to look at her, and you saw her standing with her hands on her hips and a small little smile on her. “You look fine, sweetie. You don’t need to fix your make up.”  
You whined, as per usual. “Kaaaaaay!” You turn back, unsure exactly what to do now, but then instead went back to the bedroom to grab some gaming material while you waited for breakfast. However you couldn’t find your backpack in the darkness when you were in the rooms, and you knew better than to wake up the others by turning on the light or opening the shades, so you instead decided to walk around and scope out the suite for a bit.  
The soft, recently cleaned carpet brushed your feet as you dragged your feet over to the outdoor patio. Glass windows and doors covered this side of the suite across from the kitchen, and outside was a sizeable hot tub and black pavement (for lack of a better word.) You really enjoyed the tremendous view; it was like being on the cliffside of a large mountain that overlooked an ever-lasting metropolis. The shadows of the buildings casted shadows on each other, and some windows gleamed the sun’s rays back into you. The spectacular sight left you mesmerized, and to top it all the tower to the left (it kinda looked like the Eifel Tower from Paris) stood, like a spire jutting out of the hustle and bustle of the advanced super-city, and farther off stood another tall tower, climbing high and shining brightest of them all.  
You had not noticed Kristen’s presence as she moved slowly to your side, but she broke the silence you cased yourself in with some exposition. “The Tokyo Tower,” she named the large red and while structure. “Originally built in the 1960’s as one of the tallest free-standing towers. Its purpose was TV analog broadcasting and radio transmitting, however it has remained for tourism and the museum that exists bellow it in a town called FootTown, even after all broadcasting capabilities have been stripped, rendering almost useless. The color, its international Orange, was to comply with air traffic regulations of the time.”  
Your gaze rolled over ahead of them, at the taller, more distant tower, and Kristen new exactly what you wanted.  
“The Tokyo Skytree,” she informed. “Was originally completed in 2012 as the largest structure in the four islands of Japan. It, too, served as a broadcasting antenna, but was also fitted with an observation deck and a prestige restaurant.” She stopped herself and you look over to find her with the sliding door open, beckoning you outdoors. You follow, awe-struck still by the skyline as she continues.  
“What you see, of course, is not the original structure. The original was one of the many casualties of the Robolution, as you may remember.” Yes of course, how could you forget the school teachers droning on about that stupid war. Yes, we get that stupid robots that the Japanese used for various mcjobs were infected with some virus and then overtook Japan and it was the worst thing since the War on Terror and WWII, blah blah blah. Luckily, you knew Kristen would not sprout exposition on this as you glided around the hot tub and right up to the glass railing, Kristen close behind.  
“The Skytree was of course resurrected after the rest of the city was rebuilt, and it now serves as a memorial for the Fall of Tokyo. It recently opened up just a few years ago, I believe it was 7 years ago, on the memorial day.”  
The wind was stagnant as you gazed out, imagining the whole city and what it must have been like during the Robolution; you see the buildings alit with tremendous flames, an explosion in the distance as jet fighters bolt across the sky. The sky was black under a thick cloud of ash and smoke, and the Skytree was partially damaged. Smoke was billowing out of its observation deck and the antenna was partially damaged. Suddenly you hear a loud, heavily distorted and droning horn, and it sounded like the dooms day bell of the future. At the horn’s command, a series of explosions begin to occur, and suddenly the Skytree begins to list to the left. It continues to lean until the observation deck slipped right off, and the structure begins to fall. The explosions continue until the Skytree had finally fallen underneath a plume of dust, and the battle noises raged on. You imagine this is what the world was like back then. You imagine this is what hell looks like.  
You hear your name being called and you snap back to reality, a reality in which you just lost track of time. You turn around to see Kristen and the hotel guy sitting down for some sandwiches (of course Kristen serves the guest). She beckoned you over to sit and enjoy breakfast, and you shrug and walk on over to join them. You close the door behind you and leave that hell in your mind forever, at least you hope so.


	3. Out for the Afternoon

Switching perspective once more? Wise decision.

You are Kristen Martin once again, and you rather enjoyed the company of Takeo, the bell-hopper you gladly served. You were surprised Victoria didn’t outright complain in front of Takeo about serving him, maybe she’s getting better at her impulsive behaviors. That, or it didn’t actually bother her, which you doubt. Either way, he thanked you numerous times as you ushered him on his way out. You took this free time - with Victoria fed and the rest of the band fast asleep for the next couple hours - to shower and wash up. It had been a whole two days without a good touch up, and it bothered you greatly knowing this.

The lack of towels is maddening. You noticed the shortage when you were scavenging for additional towels before you stepped into the shower. Now you were wrapped tightly in one from your chest down to where your fingers could grasp the ends, and another holding up your hair. The shower was nice and refreshing, and you felt clean and secure. You moved on to the mirror to work on your makeup, and even in the humid environment inside the bathroom the state-of-the-art mirrors were clear as always.

You’re face looked so strange without makeup and the very few blemishes were so incredibly clear it irritated you. Your rather round cheeks and facial structure looked so strange without the blush and foundation you apply to make these features less important, and your double folding eyelids hardly stood out as they did with eyeliner on. In your eyes, your eyes seemed less Asian without the makeup, and you would almost never show this face to anyone.  
This time seemed to be the first exception. 

You hear the lock on the door snap open and the door opened. You jolted away and screamed, clutching the towel that protected you from indecency, as Victoria flung the door open – then wheezed from the humidity – then stumbled in. Her demeanor was pure apathy, it almost seemed forced upon her as she closed the door, mumbling, “Geez Kristen, don’t you ever put the fan on? I can hardly breathe in here.”

“Victoria the bathroom would be in a suitable environment if it was in your occupation!” you countered. You could feel your heart race and you spoke fast and high in defense. “But currently this bathroom is not yours to just barge in unannounced! I am currently using the-!”

“Yeah, well too bad, I need your makeup stuff and it’s all in here.” Victoria rudely cut you off and butted over to your spot by the mirror (she of course could have chosen anywhere else because it was a very large mirror but that is just how she is). “Now move over.”

“Victoria Sessions!” you state, irate and embarrassed. “You leave this bathroom this instant, or I’ll…. I’ll…!”

“Oh my god just let me touch myself up, jeez!” She reached for your cosmetic bag and began to sift and rummage though it. Anger rose in her you could tell but it was mostly passive aggression then anything.

“Out, NOW!” You didn’t care what she wanted; it was uncalled for her to barge in unannounced and rummage through your stuff like she owned it.  
But then something came up that took you aback a bit: “Look, Kristen,” she responded with a telling sigh. The irate expression on your face dropped; you knew she’d only call you by your full name if she really cared or if she truly meant something (she loved to purposely call everyone by some nickname or another). “I just want to clean up and get ready to go out. Plus I promised that stupid fan boy down in the lobby that I’d get in a picture with him. Look, I’ll just be in and out and you can have your private time for, well, whatever you want to be so private about.”

Oh god it was that look again. Victoria turned to the mirror with her shoulders up and her arms locked, her palms were pressed backwards on the counter and it was that look. You could never specify with words what it was like, but you knew how it felt. It was a simple raise of the eyebrows along with a blank face, but the eyes were what spoke to you. Her face expressed a feeling of hurt and distrust; she felt defeated and oppressed to the point she couldn’t give a shit anymore. It made you feel guilty; you knew she was sensitive to such small things like this. She values you as a friend and just this single instant broke her a little inside her already smashed heart. She was going through some difficult times and it was all on her face; no one else could see it but you and you felt so guilty and sorry for that.

A few moments passed by while you recognized her demeanor, and you unfreeze yourself and place an arm around your dearest friend. “Victoria,” you begin. “I am sorry I was so emotionally reactive to you then. I mean, if you are having a moment with yourself, you get lost in it, so twisted and tangled that outside interference would come as such a shock to you. I figure the fact that I was nearly completely naked and without makeup on when you walked in with your typical apathetic mood would be a valid reason to respond in the manor I did.”

“I mean,” Victoria started up, paused, then continued. “Hell I just figured we were so close that if I did just kinda walk in to fix myself up a bit you wouldn’t mind.” She paused again, placing a hand on yours and gripping it affectionately. “When you practically blew up in my face about it, it made me feel like I underestimated our relationship, and I….” She hung her head low and her voice began to break, which nearly killed you. “I’m just really sorry that I’m such an ass to you. I’ll get out of your hair.”

Right in the heart. Your poor friend, you think to yourself and you extend your other arm to turn her far shoulder. “Victoria, my dear,” you warmly reply. “Don’t be so foolish! The only things in my hair are water molecules and a towel, and I assure you, you are not either of these.”

The playful tone of your words raised Victoria’s head, her pony tail all in her eyes. You take a swift hand and clear her face. “Now that I understand your intentions, there is no need to feel upset. I forgive you. Honestly I am quite happy that you value our relationship as what it is, and to be quite honest I would agree; Our relationship is quite strong and do not be ashamed to believe it is anything more.”

You feel like you should’ve been a bit more clear with your words, for Victoria seemed to receive a different message from this. Her face lit up with a mix of happiness and something playful and… well, suggestive. “Kritsieeeeeeee, I can hardly believe that’s how you feel about me! I mean, the others are still asleep, I believe we have some time before they wake up.”

Uh oh. You need to remember how sexually active Victoria was, and how reactive she was to the sublets of advancements. Not yet, your mind screams as you look to change the direction of the conversation. 

“W-what are you talking about?” was your initial reply, however you could tell Victoria read something else in this, diffusing her suggestive look into a worried, embarrassed and confused one. “I MEAN! Ummmm, Y-you were, going out.... right?”

“Yes, yes I w-”

“Awesome! Because that’s what I was asking, errrm, Yeah!” Victoria turned and began pretending to fix her makeup, faux confidence filled her words. “I was talking about going out and seeing the city! Y-you know, go grab some lunch before the others wake up!”

“Victoria I am not sure that’s….” You were going to call her out on her advancements, but you stop yourself and instead go along with her, not wishing to bring up the awkward moment. “Yes, we should. I thought you did not like going out where people would harass us.”

“Nah, it’s pretty cool, here!” The confidence began to fill her words as she continued to apply excessive eyeliner. “This place is pretty chill about celebrities. Besides, have you seen everyone here?! It’s like a damn fashion show; everyone dresses even more like vogue models than you! We’d stand out like idiots, and look like total weirdos!”

This was quite true; you remember getting questioning looks from passer-biers as you escorted the half-dead band from the airport to the limousine and to the room, and from what you can recall you really liked their outfits. 

“Well, then I guess we can spoil ourselves while the others sleep.” You finish, turn to the mirror to start applying your makeup. You start with the foundation and Victoria asks how you do your makeup, saying it was always the greatest. You then spend the next hour or so giving her lesions on how many professionals do makeup, foundation, eye cosmetics and everything else. You help her out where she needs, and by the top of the hour she looks gorgeous. She thanks you many times, and you simply reply that it was nothing, as it really wasn’t anything to you.

The time is 12:30PM approximately, and you and Victoria have spent nearly a whole hour and a half looking for a place to eat. Your detours were mostly due to Victoria wanting to go one way, or this way, or that way, or any other way but the direct route. You admittedly did get to see a lot of the city; the former roads were now crosswalks and walk ways, and the underground subway system was in full motion and it was all very confusing. You estimate an entire city could live underneath had they cleared out the tunnels and connected it all. The city of Neo-Tokyo was surely the center of innovation as it was nearly 40 years ago.

On the way (through Victoria’s scenic route) to the café you choose, you got to see many memorials and statues on display from the Robolution. Pieces of charred metal from the former city of Tokyo were of high interest based on the size of crowds, and in part it did interest you somewhat. Victoria on the other hand was a bit more closed-minded; she had been bored to death of the heroic and tragic stories from the war, and the topic in general she refused to participate in. You’re sure she has an extensive knowledge of it already, given that her father was a great war hero from the famous battles of Kyoto and Yokohama bay. You assure yourself she isn’t ignorant to the lesions learned, but you’re also certain she wouldn’t like to stare at anything related to the event either.

When you arrived to the café, the waiter processed your reservation and brought you to your table on the second floor balcony. The view was interesting; looking down at the crowds of people walking in all directions. There seemed to be an endless number of them, and that they were absolutely everywhere. This was certainly more people per capita than in New York, you and Victoria’s home town. This city felt more new, very modern and more upper-class than New York. Granted, most of New York’s lower Manhattan was much older than all of Neo-Tokyo, and there were still cars and taxis running around, but it still just felt older. Neo-Tokyo felt more refined, as though it were the 23rd century and the whole world was a sprawling metropolis. The air was crisp and clear, fresh and clean. It had its own metallic luster to it that felt so new and refreshing, while New York was mostly a product of the Industrial Revolution and ever still. Much like how it was in the places the band toured; Shanghai, Chicago, Toronto, San Francisco or even Miami, the air had a thick cloud to it that was filled with waste munitions such as carbon dioxide (even though this was odorless). 

You really enjoyed it here. The fashion was fantastically new and exciting. While you could look at Eric or Victoria and place them into New York City and they would blend in, you feel like you could really blend in well with the people of Neo-Tokyo. Thomas had roots in the rural areas of the United states, in what little areas that were such existed, and as such his clothing showed this much. Francesca was a product of Italian design; as was the trend in most of Europe, she emulated much of former cultures from distant time periods. Terri didn’t really have a care in the world what she looked like, but it mostly had Chicago elements as were her parent’s roots. You figure it was your Japanese roots that brought you here, to love the fashion and love the look.

“Kay, what do you want?” Victoria snapped you out of your trance; you had been staring out the sound-proof window for what felt like mere moments. You eyes dart to your menu and finally you start rifling through the lists of items.

“I will probably just have a turkey and ham sandwich with some sides, how about you?”

“Ehh, a bit of everything, I guess. What do you think about a three foot sub?”

“Three? That a bit much for even you, Victoria.” She was a heavy weight when it came to eating, although her active performances were good enough of a work out to keep her diet of almost three thousand calories in check. Her slender body that lack dramatic curves was a statement to prove such.  
“Nah, for the both of us!” she explained, leaning back in her chair. The chair seemed like an antique; made of wood and woven with smaller strands of wood, it creaked as she leaned back on its two rear legs.

“Ahh, yes well then I guess we can work with that instead.”

You order and your drinks arrive shortly after, you with a modest glass of water and Victoria with chocolate milk.

“So remind me,” Victoria spoke between sips of her chocolate milk (by which you mean large gulbs; she was finished before you finished explaining). “What performances do we have while we’re here?”

“Well, we have tonight’s opening concert in Neo-Saitama, the northern district of the Tokyo area.” You pull out a holo-map on your phone and place it on the table. The district of Saitama was highlighted on the map of Neo-Tokyo. “Following that, next week is a low-key performance at the sky lounge on the Sky Tree.” The district where the Sky Tree was became highlighted. “This means acoustic guitars and minimal ruckus.”

“Heh, I’ll have to remind Eric about it, then!” Victoria joked.

“Yes very much so.” You moved on with the agenda. “We have an interview with a couple name magazines during the time between the Skytree show and the Benefit concert for the rebuilding of Japan and the survivors of, well….” You could tell Victoria didn’t want to talk about it, so you continued on the interviews. “Rolling Stone says they’re doing the interview in waves to coincide with the Japanese magazines, and since you’re the frontwoman of the band, they want you for the first couple days, and a whole week for the band.” You began to beam and smile as you finished with, “And I have an interview with a couple of Japanese fashion magazines as well as Runway and Vogue on the season dresses I produced this year!” You were genuinely excited for those; you were getting noticed for something other than being associated with the Eight8alls.

“That’s fantastic, Kay!” Victoria exclaimed. You were looking down at your feet in joyous bashfulness and you couldn’t tell if she was being genuine with her shared excitement. Luckily, her next words confirmed this: “Can I see the designs?!”

You shutter in excitement. “Yes of course!” You close the holo-map to bring up your designs from your notes. There were a few pictures of the models with her dresses, and a greater amount of conceptual sketches and inked designs. “The group I submitted to like a handful of my sketches, and so they wanted full dresses, fabricated and sewed together, and they’re going to be featured at a big name fashion show!” You decided to spare Victoria the details, you imagine they would just bore her (Of course you weren’t exactly sure, given the amount of attentions she’s giving you on this project).

“Oh my gosh, Kay this is incredible! I really love these!” It felt as though your heart was going to beat down your rib cage and hop out onto the table when Victoria pointed at the cobalt dress and commented, “I really like this one. It’s got a lot of loaded flare, I can tell. Looks great!”

You didn’t want to pull them away with Victoria so excited to see them, however their order had just came in. You casually ate though the pieces of the sub you selected while your friend chugged through several slices of it, also just as casual (which you’ve still been trying to get use to). Where does the large quantity of the food she eats go? That seemed like the greatest unsolved mystery for you. In any case, you both finished the sub and received the check. While you stand at the front desk to pay for it, Victoria busied herself with some local fans, signing a few autographs and taking pictures with them. At you call, however, she thankfully did cooperate and the two of you stepped out back onto the streets. On your way to the nearest subway station, Victoria called for your attention. “Hey, Kay!”

“Yes?” you replied, stopping just before the stairs to the entrance of a subway hub.

“Say, if you still have those dresses, do you mind if I try on one?” Her perked eagerness flattered you greatly.

“Well, I unfortunately do not,” you solemnly state, taking her hand as you descended into the subway. “I had to give them to the models for the show in two weeks; however I do have the designs to recreate them.”

You glance back to reassure yourself with Victoria’s smile. “That’s fantastic! I’d really love that!”

You turn back and mumble to yourself, “Heheh, anything for you.”


End file.
